Under The Ocean (Original)

Under the Ocean (Original — Revised 2020)

By Ian King

© 2017 dotandtittle publishing

eBook ISBN: 978-1-3014-2522-8

Softcover ISBN: 978-0-473-55105-6

First published on Amazon 2013

This revised edition published, 2020

Smashwords Edition – Copyright © 2013 Ian King.

ISBN: 978-1-3014-2522-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

If you have enjoyed this eBook, please return to: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/dotandtittle and view some more of the authors work. Oh, and reviews are more than welcome, in fact: encouraged.

N.B. from author. If you are wondering why this is called Under the Ocean (Original), It is because this was my original version that I wrote in ’third person’,before I converted it into ’first–person version’, which is also available. I hope you enjoy it.

Table of Content:

Chapter One: Lake–Mist’s Restoration

Chapter Two: Trapped!

Chapter Three: A Troubled Soul

Chapter Four: Breathtaking

Chapter Five: Mysterious New World

Chapter Six: The Abyss

Chapter Seven: Jasmine’s Discovery

Chapter Eight: Separated!

Chapter Nine: Corpses and Clashes

Chapter Ten: A Small Mercy

Chapter Eleven: Sarah Meets the General

Chapter Twelve: The Threatening Caller

Chapter Thirteen: Sam’s Narrow Escape

Chapter Fourteen: General Sabaoth

Chapter Fifteen: French Toast and Pancakes!

Epilogue:

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Other Books by This Author:

Chapter One: Lake–Mist’s Restoration

Tonight, the girls and their brother were sleeping in the caravan. It had been a long time coming, as dad had worked hard on the old, fit for dumping caravan, for quite a few weeks. It was a big job, and if you had seen it back in September (the caravan), you would have given up on her right then, but no! Dad had a vision! He saw something where no one else could and where nothing else but rot, existed. A bit of blood, sweat and tears is all it needed; apart from the new wall panels, new shelving, that wasn’t all bubbled and blistered. Also, it needed new floorboards and even new couches (which were clever and transformed into beds). Yep! It all needed to be dealt with, majorly!

No one would ever have survived a night in those bumpy old torture slabs, without waking with aches and pains from head to toe. That was all before Dads mastery had taken place.

All he needed to do today was fit in the new wardrobe, the three–way fridge and then put in the new soft cushions; the ones mum had picked out at Arthur’s Emporium last week. They were made from a plush deep–blue velvet material, fresh and royal–looking. The old stinker slabs that had rotted, (what hadn’t?) and had previously filled the caravan with nothing less than the mustiest smells around the entire bay, Stingray Bay. Now (and fortunately), they found their new home in the nearby dump.

"As soon as I get ‘Lake-mist’ finished (that is what Dad had tenderly named the caravan), you can spend the first night in it kids." Dad made a promise a couple of weeks ago and the children eagerly anticipated its fulfillment. They would have slept in it a month ago but Dad wanted it to be absolutely completed, before they were allowed to. Perhaps, that is why he had the couch–beds finished last.

Dad, can I make you a cuppa? Jasmine would chant daily, in her innocent soprano voice; she considered herself to be a top restaurant waitress.

Sam wanted Dad to finish ‘Lake-mist’ now and tried constantly to lend a hand. Even if it wasn’t needed, or wanted – more to the point! He brought tools and panels, whatever Dad required. Here you are Dad. Is there anything else I can get you? His steely–blue eyes would always penetrate and probe for an answer. Here’s the hammer. Is there anything else you need? Often, Sam would receive nothing but a grunt from his busy father. Still, he didn’t mind.

How long is it going to take? Sarah complained incessantly. When will you be finished? The three kids drove Dad nuts, by not leaving him alone for a moment. However, today was the big day and the excited children chatted while playing close by, with the anticipation rushing through their veins of their soon to happen escapade, in the ’Lake-mist’. Now at last, everything was finished.

The new and improved caravan gleamed in the sunshine on the lawn behind the house. It was an eighteen–footer, painted aqua–blue on the top half and silver on the bottom. The two colours made it look like a sleek space station. The entrance was set to the right of the middle, where the axles stood firm on its pair of shiny–black, round feet. The windows were large and slightly convex, which repelled the ultra–violet light with a deep–brown tint. The inside was practically laid out, Dad had always been practical.

When the door was opened (or ’air lock’, as the children had affectionately named it), the guests would be welcomed with automatically–lit steps. All eyes were likely to be drawn to the warm brown kitchenette and stainless bench top, which was positioned across on the other side of the plush maroon carpet. The carpet had a soft, homely sensation for the bare feet of its new guests.

Sam – no surprises here – was the first one to dash inside. As he slowed before hitting into the kitchenette, he breathed in deeply the smells of the freshly varnished walls and painted cupboards. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was friendly and carried a sense of adventure about it.

To the left, under the front window of the caravan, there were laid out two long couches, which ran down either side of the cosy cabin, they were set up against the opposite walls. They were, at that time, turned into a big double bed, unmade with the blankets folded neatly at the foot.

The blankets were usually stored inside the cleverly constructed underside lid of the couches, for easy access so when you needed them they were sure to make any night of adventure a comfortable one. It didn’t matter if you were in the backyard, or on a wild trail in the mountains. At least, you would always be warm and dry.

The caravan – or space station – was parked near the cliff’s edge, behind the house. Its perfect position was enough to give it huge appeal for an adventure right there. And because it had been perched on one of the highest cliffs around, it would now let the children see right out of the rear window (and hear) all the way down to the frothing white–capped waves which tumbled and rolled methodically, in and out from Stingray Bay.

It was only a short walk from the end of their lawn to the main sandy access of the beach. When they reached the track, they’d usually follow it down to the left, treading carefully, it was pretty steep and littered with loose stones and rocks.

The thoroughly used stairway to the beach looked like a giant hydro–slide with aged banks and no water, but instead, a sky ceiling. It cut deep through the high cliff and often caused a wind tunnel effect when the chilly southerlies blew inland from the sea.

As the wind chased through the narrow gap it could easily catch anyone who didn’t know about it, unaware. When the kids arrived at the end of the hydro–slide, they only needed to run a short distance and then the cold, refreshing salt water would sneak up and grip their unsuspecting toes and feet, like chilly–ice fingers.

In the early morning, which it wasn’t at the moment, it had been low tide. The children had been on the beach; they often saw the high cliff to the left and imagined it to be a massive ANZAC soldier, stationed in the deep water. His feet would be enveloped up to his ankles